


Pretty Boy

by poor_guys_headisspinning



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Begging, Dysphoria, First Aid, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Kinky Shit, M/M, Praise, Restraint, Self-Harm, Slapping, Trans Male Character, Underage Drinking, all the newsies are trans i don't make the rules, he doesn't know shit, jack is an idiot, just some really tender gay shit, tender shit, these tags are a wild ride get ready
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 10:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poor_guys_headisspinning/pseuds/poor_guys_headisspinning
Summary: 5 times Spot called Race pretty boy alone and 1 time he did it in public





	Pretty Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theatergay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatergay/gifts).



> I'm a mess?? it's been over a month since I posted anything sorry oops  
> shoutout to theatergay aka henry aka the Best Boy for coming up with the idea of race being a pretty boy cause wow  
> I still also love Imnotweirdjustwriting she's sitting next to me and letting me use her laptop to post this  
> wow I love my friends okay

The first time Spot said it, Race almost gave himself whiplash from turning around so fast. They'd been arguing about something, Race didn't even remember what, and Spot had gotten angry and said it.

"Shut up, pretty boy," he snarled.

Race stared at him, fighting off a blush. "What the fuck did you just call me?"

Spot crossed his arms defensively, though his eyes looked wide and slightly embarrassed. "You heard me," he replied.

Race tried desperately to make his head stop spinning long enough to win the argument. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"What does it sound like, dipshit?"

"It sounds like you just called me pretty."

"So?" Spot was definitely not blushing.

"Am I pretty?" Race asked, finally composing himself enough to start teasing.

"Shut up, Race."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a shut the fuck up, _Antonio_ ," Spot growled, standing up.

"I like you better when you call me pretty," Race said thoughtfully.

Spot looked at him, face flushed from embarrassment and fire in his eyes, then he stomped out of the room and slammed the door.

Race stared at the door. He tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. _He called me pretty. Spot Conlon just called me pretty._ _  
_

Race sunk to the couch and turned on the TV, not really watching it. The only coherent thought in his head was _Spot called me pretty._

In an hour or so, he would text Spot. _It's getting late. Come back before it's too dark._ Spot would show back up ten minutes later, and they wouldn't discuss their argument. That was how they worked.

For now, Race enjoyed the feeling that being called pretty gave him.

***

The next time Spot said it, Race had just fucked up. "Spo'," he panted into the phone. "Can you come get me?"

"Where are you?" Spot asked immediately. "What happened?"

"I'm in, uhh, that one parking lot. By the school. You know the one."

"Yeah, I know the one. What happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm a little drunk," Race slurred. "An' I might have gotten in a little fight. It's fine, can you just come pick me up?"

"Damnit, Race," Spot groaned. "I'm on my way. Is anything broken? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Race looked down at his arms and legs. He regarded his left knuckles, which were bloody and bruised. He took a deep breath and winced as his ribs protested the action. He poked at his nose and inhaled sharply. He put the phone back to his ear. "My nose hurts, but I don't wanna go to the hospital. I jus' want you to come get me."

"Damnit, Race," Spot repeated. "I'm coming. Don't move."

Race nodded before he realized Spot couldn't see him. "'Kay."

Spot stayed on the phone, but he didn't say anything. Soon enough, Race saw headlights pulling into the parking lot. Spot parked and left his car. He hurried over to where Race sat on the curb.

"Christ, Race!" he exclaimed. "You look like shit."

"Thanks Spo'," Race replied. "You're so nice to me."

Spot ignored the remark and helped Race up. Race swayed slightly on his feet and leaned heavily onto Spot. Spot led him gently to the car and sat him down in the passenger seat. He closed the door and went around to the driver's side.

"So, Racetrack," Spot started, putting the key in the ignition and starting the engine. "What happened?" 

"I was at the bar, an' some guy was bein' an asshole, so I had to teach him a lesson," Race mumbled. He was slumped in his seat with his chin down. 

"And this 'lesson' required you getting your ass kicked?" Spot asked, raising an eyebrow.

Race laughed, but quickly stopped when his lip split open again. "You should see the other guy."

Spot looked at him. "You're a dumbass, Race."

"That's not nice, Spo'," Race scolded. "He was bein' a real ass. Someone needed to tell him to stop."

Spot sighed. "What was he doing?"

"He was callin' people the f word, Spot."

"You do that too, Race," Spot reminded him. Race must be really drunk if he got into a fight for that.

"Not fuck," Race said like Spot was an idiot. "The bad one. The slur. I don't like saying it. He kept callin' people it and I kept tellin' him to stop, but he didn't. So I punched him. Shoulda known he would punch back."

"Oh." Spot looked back at the road. They rode in uncomfortable silence the rest of the way. Spot pulled into a parking space and took out his key. He unbuckled both him and Race, and got out of the car. He opened the door for Race and helped him out. He kicked the car door shut and half dragged Race up the steps to their apartment building and through to their door.

While Spot was locking the door, Race started moving to his room.

Spot turned around and saw Race halfway across the living room. "Where are you going?" he called.

"Sleep." Race didn't stop or turn around.

Spot groaned and ran after him. He grabbed Race's wrist and pulled him back. Race winced as Spot put too much pressure on it. "Sorry. You can't sleep yet, you'll get blood all over your sheets."

"'M tired," Race complained. He tugged on his wrist. "Let go, I wanna sleep."

Spot didn't let go. He pulled Race towards the bathroom. Race resisted. Spot sighed and kept pulling. Race kept protesting.

Spot said it without thinking. "Let's get you cleaned up, pretty boy."

Race stopped protesting and let himself be dragged into the bathroom. Spot pushed him down onto the toilet seat and got the first aid kit. He turned around to grab a washcloth, and when he turned back, Race was staring at him open-mouthed.

"What?" he asked, feeling somewhat defensive as he wet the washcloth.

"You did it again."

"Did what?" Spot started wiping the dried blood off of Race's face.

"Called me pretty boy," Race answered, staring up at Spot.

Spot's hand froze. He cursed under his breath. "So?" he said, trying to keep his voice level.

"Am I pretty?" Race asked, still looking at Spot with wide eyes.

"Not right now you're not," Spot muttered. He released Race's chin and picked up his left hand. He wiped the blood off of the split knuckles with surprising delicacy.

"So I'm usually pretty?" There was none of the teasing tone that Race had the first time. He sounded like a curious child. A very drunk curious child.

"How much did you drink?" Spot asked. He lowered Race's hand while he looked for bandages, but kept holding it.

"A little."

"Wait. You're nineteen, how did you get drinks in a bar?"

"Fake I.D.," Race answered, looking quite proud of himself.

"And they believed you? You could pull off fifteen if you tried to. That's the wrong direction." Spot carefully wrapped the bandages around Race's hand.

"Hey!" Race protested. "I can be old if I wanna be."

"Sure. Now take off your shirt."

"We're moving a bit fast, ain't we?" Race joked. "You can't expect me to strip just cause you called me pretty twice. At leas' take me on a date first."

Spot sighed. "Shut up, asshole. I need to check out your ribs." He let go of Race's hand to pull his shirt up.

Race wiggled his eyebrows. "You mean my abs?"

"I'm gonna strangle you. Just take off your shirt."

Race pulled his shirt over his head and threw it at Spot. "My ribs are fine, Spo'. He only kicked 'em like twice before I got back up."

"I just wanna make sure." Spot poked at Race's ribs gently and was pleased to see that they weren't terribly bruised.

"Spo'?" Race asked.

"Hm?"

"You never answered my question."

Spot handed Race's shirt back. "What question?" He knew what question.

"Am I usually pretty?"

Spot looked at Race. He prayed that Race wouldn't hold this information against him. He was probably drunk enough that he wouldn't. "Yeah. You're gorgeous. C'mon, we're done. Time to stand up."

Race practically glowed as he took Spot's offered hand and stood up. "You think I'm pretty."

"I'm aware. You need to sleep now, come on." He led Race out of the bathroom and into his room. "Put on pajamas and I'll let you sleep."

"I wanna wear yours," Race whined.

Spot looked away to conceal a blush. He didn't want to admit that Race in his pajamas would be unbearably cute. "You're taller than me," he said, thinking of an excuse to prevent that. "They won't fit."

Race groaned. He dragged his feet as he walked to his dresser and picked out a random pair of pajama pants. Spot turned around as Race changed. When he turned back to face Race, he was wearing pajamas and looked ready to pass out.

"I'm going to my room now. Goodnight." He left Race's room and went across the hall. His shirt was halfway off when he turned around and saw that Race had followed him. "Christ!" he yelped, pulling his shirt back down. "What the fuck are you doing in my room?"

Race flopped down on Spot's bed. "I'm sleeping here," he announced. His tone left no room for argument.

"Fine. As long as you sleep. Now turn around so I can change."

Race cooperated, burying his face in Spot's pillows. Spot changed quickly and went over to his bed. "Move over so I can get in, Race."

Race nodded and rolled over to the left side of the bed. "Your pillows smell like you," he commented as Spot climbed under the sheets.

"Okay?" Spot replied, unsure of how to react.

"You smell good," Race added.

Spot groaned and hid his face under the covers. "You're so drunk." He was having a really hard time ignoring how Race made him feel while Race was lying so close to him and saying he _smelled nice._

Race giggled. "Yeah."

Spot shifted his hand and it brushed against Race's. Race took hold of it. Spot almost had a heart attack. "What are you doing?"

"Holding your hand," Race answered.

"I got that. Why are you holding my hand, Race?"

"Cause I wanna. Am I allowed?"

"Sure. Go to sleep."

Race shifted closer to Spot. "You're warm."

Spot didn't respond to that. He didn't think his heart could take how clingy Race was being. "Goodnight, pretty boy."

Race squeezed Spot's hand and moved even closer. "You're so kind," he whispered. "You keep calling me pretty."

"That's because you are," Spot whispered back before he could stop himself. "Now goodnight."

"You're cute too, Spo'," Race breathed, just barely conscious. "'S not just me."

"Goodnight."

"You're no fun," Race complained.

"You need to sleep." Spot's heart was about to give out if Race didn't stop talking.

Race sighed, then yawned. "Fine. Night, Spot."

Race's breathing quickly evened out, and Spot fell asleep not long after. When Spot woke up, their limbs were tangled together. He tried to calm himself down as he carefully extracted himself and got up. He went to the kitchen and got Race a glass of water and a couple of aspirins for the headache he would inevitably have when he woke up. He quietly set them on the bedside table and went to go make breakfast. Eggs and sausage and chocolate chip pancakes because Race was a child and still liked them.

He was just flipping the first batch of pancakes when Race came into the kitchen, groaning and rubbing his eyes.

"Morning, pretty boy," Spot said, noting with pride the way Race lit up and smiled at the name. "You still look awful."

"You _just_ called me pretty. Am I pretty or do I look awful?" Race asked jokingly. He grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and poured milk into it. "Thanks for the aspirin, by the way."

"No problem." Spot flipped the pancakes again and took them off the griddle. He put the plate on the table and checked the sausages. They were almost done. He cracked four eggs in a bowl and whisked them quickly before pouring them into a pan. He poured more pancakes on the griddle and dropped chocolate chips on them.

"They're chocolate chip?" Race asked excitedly. Spot nodded. "Thanks, Spot, you're the best."

"I know." Spot started taking the sausages out of the pan and putting them on a separate plate. He set that on the table too and moved his attention back to the eggs, which were cooking quickly. "Cheese?"

"Yeah, thanks," Race said with half of a pancake in his mouth. Spot got the cheese from the fridge and sprinkled some in the eggs. He flipped the pancakes and stirred the cheese into the eggs. He turned around to look at Race again for a moment. He turned back to the stove when he saw Race staring at him.

"There were six pancakes, Race," he said, ignoring it. "How did you eat four already?"

"I'm hungry," Race answered, shoving an entire sausage in his mouth.

"Leave some for me," Spot joked, checking the pancakes currently on the griddle.

"Ah, you're cooking more, it's fine." Race waved his hand and pulled another pancake onto his plate. "Hurry up with the eggs, though."

"You're in luck, Your Highness. They're just about done." Spot walked over to Race with the pan and dumped half of the eggs onto his plate. He put the rest of them on a plate for himself and set the pan back on the stove. He put the rest of the pancakes on the plate and sat down at the table.

Race shoveled eggs into his mouth and took another swig of milk. Spot sipped a mug of coffee and ate his breakfast in a much more civilized way.

"Uh, Spot?" Race asked, fidgeting with his fork and not looking at Spot.

"Yeah?"

"Is this... is this like, a thing now?"

"Is what a thing?" Spot felt nerves in the pit of his stomach.

"You've called me pretty like four times, three of which have been in the last twelve hours. Are you gonna start calling me pretty boy now?"

"Do you want me to?" Spot asked cautiously. "I can stop if you don't like it."

"It's fine. I, uh, don't mind it. You can call me that if you want."

"Okay, pretty boy." Spot grinned and picked his fork back up.

***

It became sort of a habit. Spot would sometimes greet Race by calling him "pretty boy." Most often, though, it slipped out when he was too tired or angry to stop himself.

"Shut up, pretty boy," was a commonly heard phrase when they were fighting. Without fail, the argument ended after Spot said that. Race always glowed after the compliment, and Spot couldn't be angry when Race was smiling like that.

Spot only said it in their apartment. When they were with their friends, they maintained their dynamic of constant insults and jokes. Neither of them were willing to admit that they were slowly becoming more than friends. Their touches and gazes lingered. Spot found himself looking at Race's lips and wondering what it would be like to kiss them. He wondered if Race felt the same way.

The next time something came out of Spot saying it, he was having a bad day.

He was curled up on the couch under several blankets when Race got back from work.

Race, not expecting silence when he walked into the apartment, called out uncertainly. "Spot? You in here?"

Spot couldn't bring himself to do more than say "yeah" quietly. Race sat next to him and took his hand.

"You good?" he asked gently. Spot shrugged his shoulders. "Wanna talk about it?" Spot shook his head.

Race nodded and didn't push it. They sat there in silence for a while. Race just ran his thumb over the back of Spot's hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Based on the way Spot relaxed into the touch, it was working.

"Spot?" Race eventually whispered. Spot turned to him. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Spot looked conflicted. He held Race's hand and didn't meet his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly.

"Spot, what can I do? Tell me what you want and I'll do it. I want you to feel better."

Spot looked up at Race, finally meeting his eyes. Race looked so open and trusting. Spot sighed slightly and turned his entire body so he was facing Race.

Spot breathed out, "Kiss me, pretty boy."

Race's eyes widened and he nodded. He leaned in, closing his eyes as he did so.

Their lips met, and Spot forgot everything except for the feeling of Race's slightly chapped lips against his and Race's breath hitting his face and Race's hand slowly moving to hold him closer.

Race pulled away and grinned at Spot. "Like that?"

Spot nodded and grabbed his face, crashing their lips together again. Race wrapped his arms around Spot's waist and kissed him back with everything he had in him. He'd wanted this for months and he was finally kissing Spot Conlon and it was better than he ever could have imagined.

Race knew that he wanted to take this further, but he also knew that Spot was having a bad day and probably just needed something soft and comforting. He was right; Spot broke off the kiss with a smile and leaned against Race. He closed his eyes and held onto Race's waist.

"Spot? Are you gonna take a nap now?" Race asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. Spot nodded and tightened his hold on Race. "You have to go take off your binder before you can sleep. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I don't want to move," Spot mumbled. Race reached behind him to grab Spot's hands. He held them so Spot wasn't wrapped around him anymore.

"I know, Spot. But you have to get up." Race pushed Spot gently into a sitting position again.

"I don't want to take it off."

Race sighed. "I know. I get it, you know I do, but I'm not letting you sleep until you take it off. Do you want to wear one of my hoodies after you take it off? Will that make it better?"

Spot reluctantly got up and walked slowly to his room to change. Race got up too and went to his room to get a hoodie for Spot. He picked one that was old and too big and really soft. He threw it over his shoulder and turned around to head back to the couch.

Spot was in his doorway. "Can I sleep in here?" he asked, looking down like he was expecting Race to say no.

"Of course you can." Race went to him and took his hand, pulling him to Race's bed. "Is your binder off?"

Spot nodded and reached for the hoodie. Race handed it to him and got on the bed, holding out his arms for Spot to join him. Spot shoved the hoodie over his head and climbed next to Race. He wrapped his arms around Race and buried his head in Race's shirt.

"Spot?" Race whispered, running a hand through Spot's hair. Spot made a small noise in response. "Are we... dating, now?"

Spot looked up at Race, eyes soft and vulnerable. "Do you want to be?"

Race smiled. "I'd love to, if that's okay with you."

Spot nodded and leaned up to kiss Race again. It was soft and slow and sweet and left Race feeling slightly weak. Spot pulled away and hid in Race's shirt again. Race smiled contentedly and kissed the top of Spot's head. He rubbed slow circles on Spot's shoulder blades with one hand and laced the fingers of the other with Spot's.

"You should sleep now," he murmured into Spot's hair.

Spot nodded and tightened his hold on Race. "Thank you, pretty boy."

***

Spot loved dating Racetrack Higgins. He was allowed to call him pretty and hot and gorgeous and cute and handsome and he was allowed to _kiss him._ That was the best part. Race was a _great_ kisser.

Race would argue that Spot was a better kisser. Spot took control most of the time, and Race just reciprocated whatever he was given.

When they were alone, they were basically attached to each other. They held hands whenever possible and never slept apart. They cuddled on the couch after work or school and kissed each other on the cheek while Race was making pasta or Spot was brushing his teeth. It was a domestic dream.

Most of all, though, they made out. Spot came to know Race's mouth as well as he knew his favorite color. They fit together as if it was second nature. It quickly _became_ second nature to greet each other by slotting their lips together in a warm kiss.  
Spot loved the way Race would moan under him. Race loved the way Spot would trace the almost faded scars on his chest and whisper, "You're so pretty," while kissing down his neck and leaving marks.

Spot also loved the way that Race always seemed to kiss harder and more roughly when he was called "pretty boy." So one day he decided to make full use of that.

He was lying on his bed when Race walked in, tired after a long day of classes but happy to see his boyfriend. 

"Hey," Race called out, smiling. "I missed you."

"Missed you too," Spot replied. "Come here for a sec." 

Race dropped his bag and walked over to where Spot had put his book down and was staring at him. Spot pulled Race on top of him. 

Race laughed awkwardly. "Uh, Spot? What are you-"

Spot cut him off by capturing his lips in a deep kiss. He pulled away much too quickly for Race's liking, only to lean in and put his lips right next to Race's ear. Race shivered slightly at the feeling of breath there.

Spot whispered, " _Dominate_ me, pretty boy."

Race stared at him for a moment, eyes bright and full of longing. Finally, he breathed out, " _God,_ you're hot," and lunged down, attacking Spot's lips with his own.

Race was _really good_ at kissing when he was in charge, Spot noted as Race's tongue pushed between his lips. There was no hesitation; he was following his instincts and Spot was loving where his instincts took him.

Race held Spot's waist tightly and sunk his teeth into Spot's lower lip. Spot moaned softly as Race pulled on it. He reached up to hold Race's shoulders. Race realized he was still wearing his hoodie and pulled away to rip it off, taking his shirt with it. He threw it on the floor, not caring where it landed while he went back to where Spot was looking up at him with dark eyes.

He kissed Spot again, his lips harsh and insistent. Spot's lips molded perfectly to Race's, compliant with how Race wanted it to be. Spot was keeping his word of being submissive and letting Race take charge of everything.

Spot moved to run his hands over Race's now bare chest, eager to press his palms flat against the warm skin. Race grabbed his hands and stopped the kiss.

"Not so fast," he said with a wicked grin. He pulled Spot's hands by his wrists above his head, holding them there. "No touching."

Spot nodded fervently. Race leaned back down, but went to Spot's neck instead. Spot's breath halted when Race's lips brushed against the sensitive skin there. He felt Race smirk and let his teeth graze there gently, moving down to suck a small mark right above his collarbone. Spot made a breathy noise and Race laughed quietly. He trailed his lips back up Spot's neck and stopped at his pulse point. He pressed his lips down and noticed how fast Spot's heart was beating. He smirked again and pulled up.

"Someone's a little excited, isn't he?" he teased, breathing the words right next to Spot's ear. Spot shivered and instinctively tried to grab Race, his wrists struggling against Race's hands. "God, Spot, I think you need to calm down a bit. Or maybe I should punish you?"

Spot bit his lip and closed his eyes, nodding.

Race, who had been joking, pulled away and stared down at Spot. "Do you want me to punish you?" he asked. Spot just nodded again, opening his eyes but not looking directly at Race.

"You have to say it, Spot," Race commanded.

" _Please,_ " Spot moaned.

Race tightened his grip on Spot's wrists. "That's not good enough. Tell me what you want."

Spot looked Race directly in the eyes. "I want you to punish me, Race."

"Holy _shit,_ Spot." Race dropped his head down and bit Spot's lower lip, teeth pulling almost painfully hard. He released it and moved to whisper in Spot's ear again.

"Now, are you gonna be a good boy and keep your hands there? Or do I have to hold them down?"

"I can-" Spot started, but Race cut him off.

"Good." He released Spot's wrists and grabbed a fistful of his hair. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

Spot nodded right as Race pulled on his hair. His hands twitched but stayed where they were. "Harder," he begged. "Please, Race, pull harder."

"Who's the one in charge here?" Race asked. "Last I checked it was me. Don't tell me what to do."

Race pulled harder on Spot's hair, yanking on it so Spot whimpered. "You're so into this," he teased. "It's kinda pathetic."

Spot moaned and reached up to touch Race. Race grabbed his hands and shoved them back down onto the bed.

"I said," Race growled, pulling Spot’s head up by a fistful of hair, "no touching."

He slapped Spot across the face. Spot gasped and his back arched up.

Race pulled back slightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Was that too much?"

Spot shook his head. "No, that was- can you do it again?"

Now that he knew that Spot was into it, Race went back to teasing and taunting. "You want me to hit you again?" he asked, stroking Spot's red cheek and moving his hips against Spot's.

"Yes," Spot whined. "Please, Jesus fuck yes-"

Race cut him off with a rough and passionate kiss. "Do you think you deserve for me to do that again?"

Spot opened his mouth then closed it. He didn't know what to say. He was sure this was a trick question and any answer he gave would be the wrong one.

"Answer me when I ask you a fucking question," Race ordered, yanking on Spot's hair again. "Do you think you deserve for me to hit you or not?"

Spot needed to answer. Race would put him through hell if he didn't. To be fair, he reasoned, Race would probably put him through hell regardless. But Spot wasn't one to say he didn't deserve things, so he settled for a "yes?"

Race laughed cruelly. He leaned down and bit another hickey onto Spot's neck. "Really, Spot? Do you really think you deserve it? You think you've been good enough to get what you want?"

Spot didn't answer and Race bit down again, this time almost hard enough to draw blood.

"Let's try again, shall we? Do you deserve to get what you want?" Spot shook his head. "Good boy. You're right. You don't deserve shit from me. Maybe, though, I might pity you if you start begging."

"Please," Spot said immediately. "Please, Race, god please hit me again please god I'll do anything-"

"Anything?" Race interrupted.

Spot nodded fervently. "Yeah, Race, anything god please anything you want I'll do it please just hit me again," he pleaded.

"Call me pretty boy again."

"God, Race, pretty boy, Tony, you're so pretty I love you so much hell you're the prettiest boy I've ever seen you're such a pretty boy-"

Spot gasped and stopped talking as Race pushed his left thigh between Spot's. This wasn't fair at all, Spot decided while Race ground on his crotch and went back to kissing his lips forcefully. Spot whined against Race's lips and Race deepened the kiss.

"You're being such a good boy," Race crooned. "Tell me what you want and I just might do it since you're being so good."

"Hit me again, pretty boy," Spot begged.

There was no hesitation. Race hit Spot again, sharp and hard. Spot arched his back again and pushed against Race's thigh. Race kissed him again, harsh and unyielding. He opened their mouths and their tongues collided in a frantic dance. Spot kissed back as if his life depended on it, feeling his breath stutter and pick up when Race bit his lip again. Race smirked and kissed harder.

Spot pulled away. "Stop," he panted. "Stop. I can't-"

Race looked down at him with concern and moved away. "Are you okay?"

"Holy _fuck,_ Race," Spot gasped out. "I'm fine, I just- _god,_ I can't breathe, you're so-" He coughed roughly a few times.

"Is it your binder?" Race asked. "Maybe you should take it off."

"It's fine, I just- you- _Jesus,_ Race." Spot coughed again.

"Spot, you can move your hands now," Race said gently.

Spot flexed his hands. He'd forgotten that they weren't actually tied. He moved them from where they sat above his head and rubbed his side. He looked up, hopeful. "Can I touch you now?"

Race settled down next to Spot on the bed and looked at him affectionately. "Yeah. Please do."

Spot ghosted his hands across Race's bare chest. His touch felt like fire on Race's skin. He traced patterns lightly. Reverently. Like Race was some holy thing deserving of worship. To Spot, he was.

Spot mouthed the words _pretty boy,_ staring at Race's pale body. Race blushed and pulled him up by the chin into a slow and soft kiss. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the feeling of Spot touching him so gently.

"Spot?" Race said quietly, opening his eyes to look at Spot again. "You know I didn't mean anything I said, right?"

Spot smiled and nodded. "I know. Heat of the moment and all that. I liked it, don't worry."

"I love you, Spot."

Spot tensed at the words. His hand froze and he pulled it away slowly. He looked away from Race and blinked tears out of his eyes.

Race noticed immediately. "I'm sorry, Spot. I didn't- it's okay. You don't have to say it back."

"Don't apologize," Spot whispered. "It's not your fault." He moved closer to Race, not touching him but close enough that he could feel warmth radiating off of Race.

He couldn't say it back. Love was scary. It was a promise. Too often in Spot's life it was a broken one. Love wasn't something he wanted. Love wasn't something he had. He knew his parents would never forgive him if they knew he was in love with a boy.

But his parents weren't there anymore. He hadn't talked to them in years. Race was important to him, and Race was who he was in love with. He deserved to know. Spot just couldn't say it. Not yet.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I can't. I'm not... used to it. I do, I just... I can't. I can't say it. Sorry."

Race pulled Spot closer and kissed his hair softly. "It's okay. You're good. I know it's hard. Don't think about it too much, yeah? I don't want you to beat yourself up about it."

Spot nodded. "Okay." He put his arms around Race. "Moving on, can we talk about what the _fuck_ you just did to me? Holy _shit,_ Race."

"Was it good?" Race asked. "Did you like it?"

"I really liked it. Can you do it again some time?"

"Maybe you should beg for it," Race joked, raising his eyebrows and smirking.

Spot shoved Race playfully. "Don't be mean, pretty boy."

"I'm just kidding, silly." Race kissed Spot tenderly. "We can do it again. Just make sure you're good. I don't want you to not be able to breathe next time."

"I promise I'll be careful. I'll shove you off if I need you to stop. I just kinda forgot that I could move them. I'll remember next time."

Race kissed Spot once more. "Good. I want you to be safe."

Spot smiled. "I'm always safe when I'm with you."

***

The first thing Spot saw when Race opened the bathroom door was the razor blade on the counter. His gaze quickly snapped to Race's arm, where messy red lines covered the skin that had been clean for so long. He pulled Race, who was shirtless, in for a tight hug.

"Race," he whispered into Race's hair. "What happened, baby?"

Race had been crying before, silent tears falling from his eyes. When Spot embraced him so closely and gently, he started shaking with held back sobs. He didn't want to cry in front of Spot. He was already weak enough as it was. He shook his head and didn't hug Spot back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, wincing as his voice broke. "I'm sorry, I let you down, I-"

Spot shushed him. "You didn't let me down. I'm still really proud of you, okay?"

Race hugged him back tightly and let himself cry. "You shouldn't be. I'm such a disappointment, I let everyone down. I don't deserve you."

"Hey," Spot said, holding Race by the chin and looking at him softly. "Don't cry, pretty boy."

Race just cried harder at the pet name. He buried his head in Spot's shoulder.

"I'm not," he sobbed. "I'm not."

Spot knew Race needed to move. Standing in the bathroom doorway shirtless wasn't doing anything to help him. But before they could leave, he needed to make sure Race's arm was okay.

"Race. Lemme see your arm." Race shook his head and put his arm behind his back. "Race. I need to make sure they're not too deep. Please let me take care of you."

"No. I'm not worth it." Race was trying not to cry. It wasn't working.

"C'mon, Tony," Spot coaxed. "I think you're worth it. Can you please give me your arm?"

Race reluctantly offered up his right arm and looked away while Spot turned it over and looked at the many cuts there.

"Antonio," Spot breathed out. There were at least ten angry red lines crisscrossing Race's right forearm. None of them looked too deep, but a couple were still bleeding, meaning they must have been done recently.

Race sobbed a few times, ashamed of himself for messing up. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I fucked up, I let you down, I fucking- I'm sorry, Spot."

"You're okay. You're gonna be fine," Spot reassured. He picked up the razor. "This is going in the trash. You don't need it, okay?" Race just nodded and hid his face again. His whole body was shaking with sobs. Spot was still holding his arm delicately, staring at the cuts. "I'm gonna get a washcloth, okay? Just to clean this off."

Race shook his head forcefully and tried to pull his arm away. Spot kept a tight grip on it. "Don't, Spot. I'll be fine." Though unspoken, the words _I don't deserve it_ hung heavily in the air.

"Race, baby, I'm not gonna bandage it if you don't want me to. I just want to get the blood off before we go lie down. Can I please?"

Race slowly nodded and let Spot wet a washcloth and start cleaning his arm. He kept his head down on Spot's shoulder the entire time, not willing to look at what he'd done. Spot pressed gently on a couple to stop their bleeding. Once he was satisfied with that, he got an alcohol wipe out of the first aid kit and ran it over Race's arm. Race flinched as the alcohol touched his fresh cuts and tried to rip his arm away. "That _hurts,_ Spot. Stop it."

"I just don't want them getting infected," Spot explained gently. "I'm done now, let's go lie down, okay?"

Race didn't protest as Spot carefully dragged him down the hall and into Spot's room. He was encouraged to make himself comfortable on the bed, and did so by lying down and covering his head with the blankets. This way Spot couldn't see him cry.

"Race," Spot started after settling down next to him.

"I don't wanna talk about this," Race said.

"I know you don't, but-"

"If you know, then don't ask me."

"Pretty boy, you were clean for five months. We have to talk about this."

Race turned away from Spot and tried to make his voice level. "Don't call me that." 

"Okay, Race, I won't," Spot agreed instantly. "Can you tell me why not?"

"Cause I'm not."

"Not what?" Spot asked softly. "Pretty?"

"A boy," Race snapped. "I'll never be a real boy, no one's ever gonna see me like that. I'm just pretending."

"Oh, Tony," Spot whispered. He reached his hand out to touch Race's shoulder. Race flinched and shrugged it off. "That's what this is about?"

"So what." Race didn't phrase it as a question.

"Tony, you're not pretending. You know I've never seen you as anything other than a boy. Because that's what you are. You are a real boy, even if it doesn't feel like it sometimes. Do you wanna hold my hand?" Race moved his hand slowly to put it loosely in Spot's. "Good. You're doing really good, Race." Spot squeezed his hand lightly and ran his thumb over the knuckles. Race's hand was shaking, a sign that the tears still hadn't stopped. Spot brought their entwined hands up to his mouth and kissed Race's softly. "I'm really proud of you."

Race's hand tensed. "You shouldn't be," he muttered.

"I am, though. Look how far you've come. You were clean for five whole months, Tony. That's really good. You got top surgery over a year ago, and the scars are almost faded now. You look like any cis boy I've ever seen, except prettier. You don't need testosterone to be a boy. You don't even need top surgery or a binder for that. If you say you're a boy, you're a boy. That's all that matters to me. That's all that should matter to you, too."

Race turned over and moved closer to Spot. "But you call me pretty."

"Yeah, I do," Spot replied, carding through Race's hair. "I call you pretty because you are pretty, Race. What's the problem?"

"Boys aren't pretty," Race mumbled into Spot's shirt.

"That's not true, Racey. That's not true." Spot held Race close and kissed him on the forehead. "Boys can be pretty. Just cause you're pretty doesn't mean you're not really a boy. Don't think that, okay?"

"But cis boys aren't pretty. You just call me that cause I look feminine. I just want to be a boy, Spot."

"You are a boy, Tony. You can be as masculine or feminine as you want and you'll still be a boy. And cis boys are pretty, too. Just look at Mush."

"Mush's trans."

"Wait. What? He is?" Race nodded. "Oh my god, I didn't know that. Uh, Crutchie's pretty."

"He's trans too."

"Is he really?" Spot asked, feeling a blush creeping up his cheeks. Race nodded again. "Davey?"

"Trans."

"Blink?"

"Him too."

"Elmer?"

"Trans."

"Jojo?"

"Trans."

"Bill?"

Race looked up at Spot and smiled slightly. "Trans."

"Oh my god. How am I just finding this out? Is anyone cis?"

"Romeo is."

Spot made a face of mock disgust. "I'm not calling your brother pretty."

"Jack?"

Spot fake gagged. "I'm not calling _my_ brother pretty either."

Race laughed at that. Spot smiled and kissed him on the nose. "You're real handsome when you smile, you know that? You should smile more often."

Race blushed and hid his grinning face in Spot's shirt again. Spot knew this was an improvement from earlier, so he let Race stay like that.

"My point still stands, though," Spot said into Race's hair. "They're all boys, right?" Race nodded. "And they're all definitely pretty, right?" Race nodded again. "So you can be pretty, too." Race nodded once more and tightened his hold on Spot.

After lying next to each other in silence for a while, Spot snapped his fingers, startling Race. "Specs!" he said. "He's gotta be cis, right?"

Race nodded. "Yeah. He's cis."

"See, Tony? Specs is cis and he's pretty. Not as pretty as you, of course, but you'd be lying if you said he wasn't pretty."

"I guess he is," Race agreed.

"Exactly. Boys can be pretty, Race. Notice every time I call you pretty I call you a boy right after. Cause you're a boy. I don't call you pretty cause you look feminine, I call you pretty because you're soft and your face lights up when you're happy and your laugh is the nicest sound in the world and your hair looks like gold in the sun and your eyes are bluer than anything I've ever seen and pretty is the best word to describe all that."

Race looked up at Spot, eyes shining with adoration. "I love you, Spot," he whispered.

Spot smiled down at him and kissed him softly. "I love you too, pretty boy."

Race snuggled closer to Spot. Spot rubbed his back and he shivered slightly.

"Race, why's your shirt off?" Spot asked gently. "You've gotta be cold, right?"

Race held onto Spot's shirt tightly and spoke, voice muffled by it. "I thought maybe if I took it off and saw the scars and saw that I had top surgery I would see that I'm a boy and I would feel less awful. It didn't really work."

"Oh, baby." Spot kissed Race's hair. "It's okay. Let's get you a shirt, yeah? Short or long sleeves?"

Race sighed and untangled himself from Spot. "Short, I guess."

Spot kissed Race before getting off of the bed and looking in the closet for a soft t shirt for Race. When he found one, he turned back and handed it to Race, who was sitting up now. Race sniffed the shirt and smiled. "It smells like you."

"It's my shirt, silly. Of course it smells like me," Spot replied, grinning fondly at Race.

"You smell nice," Race added, pulling the shirt over his head.

"You're such a sap, Tony." Spot kissed Race again and took his right hand, twisting it so he could see the still red cuts there. "Can I please bandage your arm?"

"Is the answer allowed to be no?" Race asked, leaning his head on Spot's shoulder.

"It's allowed to be no, if you really don't want me to, but I'd like it if you let me," Spot replied. "Just some bandages so the cuts can heal properly. Please, Race?"

"Okay, fine. Let's go." Spot smiled as way of thanking Race for cooperating and led him back into the bathroom. He sat Race down on the toilet seat and got out the first aid kit. When he turned back around, Race was laughing softly.

"What?" he asked, kneeling down and holding Race's arm gently.

Race dropped his head down on Spot's shoulder while Spot disinfected the cuts again. "Nothing really. This just feels like the time I got in a fight and you cleaned me up. Remember that? I was really drunk and you said I was pretty."

Spot laughed and placed gauze on Race's arm. "I remember, pretty boy. Do you know how badly you fucked me up by holding my hand while we slept? Your drunk ass was fine but I was about to have a heart attack. You were really cute and I wanted to kiss you but your face looked like shit and you were too drunk so I just ignored it." He wrapped a bandage around the arm and taped it in place.

"I'm glad I get to kiss you now." Race lifted his head back up to look at Spot. His eyes were warm as he held Race's arm. "I was missing out before."

Spot smiled and brought Race's arm to his lips. He pressed them gently onto the bandage. "I'm proud of you. Never forget that. You didn't fail or let me down by relapsing. You just took a tiny step backwards in your recovery, okay? All this means is next time you'll be clean even longer than you were this time. You just have to try, yeah? And talk to me when you feel like you want to hurt yourself. You know I'll listen to you and do whatever I can to help."

Race nodded. "Yeah. This was the last time. I'm not gonna relapse again. I'm gonna get better and talk to you and this won't happen anymore. I'm gonna try, Spot. I'm really gonna try hard."

"That's so good, Race. I'm so proud of you," Spot said. He stood up and helped Race up too. "Do you wanna go take a nap? I think you've earned one."

"That sounds nice," Race said wistfully. "I'm kinda exhausted."

Spot took Race's hand and they went back into Spot's room. "You get settled," Spot said. "I'm gonna take my binder off so I don't die when I inevitably fall asleep too."

Race laughed at Spot's joke and flopped down on the bed, burrowing under the covers. Spot took his binder off quickly and put on a too-big hoodie before settling down next to Race. Race curled up on Spot, using his shoulder as a pillow and draping an arm over his stomach.

"Spot?" he asked.

"Yeah?" Spot closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Race breathing.

"Thank you for being there for me."

Spot kissed the top of Race's head. "Of course. You know I'll always be here if you need me."

"I know. I love you."

Spot smiled and held Race closer. "I love you too. Now get some sleep."

***

In his defense, Spot was kind of wasted. Plus, Race looked _really_ good in his tight jeans and short-sleeved button up.

They still didn't say it in public. Despite their attached-at-the-lips relationship at home, neither Spot nor Race was particularly big on PDA. They didn't do kisses or hand holding when they were with their friends. They definitely didn't do Mushy pet names.

They were at a party, at some friend of Mush's house. Race and Spot were sitting next to each other on the couch, squeezed closer because so many people were sitting on it too (not that they were complaining).

"Uh, Blink?" Spot asked, leaning slightly against Race.

"What's up?"

"This is gonna sound really dumb but are you trans? Race said you were and I didn't know so I guess I just wanted to ask? I don't know, it's a dumb question."

"Did you just imply that you thought I was cis? I don't know if I should be flattered or offended."

"Hold on," Mush interrupted, taking Blink's hand. "Do I look like I would ever date a cis boy? I'm disgusted."

Race elbowed Spot in the side and grinned. "He thought you were cis, too."

Mush gasped dramatically. "How _could_ you, Spot? As if I could ever be as boring as a cis person."

"Isn't that, like, offensive to cis people or whatever?" Spot asked halfheartedly. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but wouldn't they be offended by that?"

"Not to be rude to them but they want me to die, so they can handle a joke about their bland as hell personalities."

"You have a point," Spot agreed.

"'Course I do," Mush said good naturedly.

"A point about what?" Jack asked, plopping down in an empty seat across from Spot and Race.

They exchanged a look with Blink and Mush. Spot shook his head slightly and Blink nodded in agreement. "Nothing," Blink said quickly. "Don't worry about it."

"Come on, that's not fair," Jack whined. "You have to tell me."

"Nothing interesting, at least not to you," Mush insisted. "Really, you don't care about it."

Jack opened his mouth to argue, but Race interrupted him.

"I," Race said, "am not nearly drunk enough for this." He squeezed Spot's knee and stood up. "Anyone want anything while I'm up?"

"Get me a drink, pretty boy," Spot said without thinking.

Jack choked on his beer. Blink's jaw dropped and Mush blinked rapidly.

Race froze. They didn't do pet names in public. He was unreasonably happy that Spot had called him pretty boy, but this was in front of their friends. He didn't really

know how to respond.

He settled on flashing a grin at Spot and replying, "Sure thing, _babe,_ " before heading to the kitchen for more alcohol.

"So," Blink started. "You, uh, you called him pretty boy."

Spot was bright red. "Yeah."

"Do you call him that a lot?" Mush asked into his cup.

Spot really wished he had a cup to hide in. Race needed to hurry up. "He's my boyfriend, Mush. I call him things other than Race sometimes."

Jack spit out his drink. "He _what_ ?!"

"What do you mean?" Spot said.

"You're fucking dating Race?"

"Did you not know?"

"No!" Jack replied, hurt. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Everyone knows, Jack," Blink said, laughing.

"I didn't!"

Blink and Mush laughed. Spot was still flushed and embarrassed, but Jack was taking the attention away from him calling Race pretty boy.

Race came back, a drink in each hand. He looked at Spot, who nodded. Race sat down in Spot's lap and handed him his drink, kissing him quickly on the lips.

Jack almost fell out of his chair. "Why the _fuck_ did I not know?" He asked, gesturing to Spot and Race. "This is fucking _obvious._ "

"Calm down, Jack. We don't make out in public usually."

"Usually?" Jack's voice was an octave higher than it normally was.

"Yeah," Spot said, putting his drink down and turning Race around so he was straddling Spot. "Tonight is an exception, I think."

Race laughed. "I can live with that."

“Of course you can, pretty boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> so the 5+1 is:  
> -shut up, pretty boy  
> -let's get you cleaned up, pretty boy  
> -kiss me, pretty boy  
> -dominate me, pretty boy  
> -don't cry, pretty boy  
> -get me a drink pretty boy
> 
> WOW dominate me pretty boy is fucking wild right can you believe I wrote it with my own two hands  
> sorry I'm comment dit on hyperfocusing on sprace learning what is true is impossible I just love Spot and Race too much  
> comments? kudos?? love and affection??? please


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